Chapter 6 - The Gathering of the Families
The rain was falling in heavy, vertical sheets by the time I emerged from the storm drain exit near the southern bank of the Chicago River.
The safehouse in Cicero was a non-descript, two-story automotive repair shop that had belonged to the Moretti family since my grandfather run whisky through these streets in the 1940s. The windows were board up from the inside with steel plates, and six heavy commercial tow trucks were parked around the perimeter to block any direct vehicular assault.
When I pushed through the side entrance, soaked to the bone and covered in limestone dust and dried blood, twelve men stood up instantly from the central work bay table.
They were the captains of the Moretti organization—the men who controlled the docks, the transport unions, the construction syndicates, and the private security networks across three states.
In the center of the room sat Elena, wrapping dry towels around the four boys who were sitting on a leather sofa eating warm soup from plastic bowls. Gianni stood beside them, holding a combat shotgun across his chest.
When I stepped into the light, the entire room went completely silent.
My senior captain, Marco Rossi—a broad-shouldered man with a scarred face who had served my father for thirty years—stepped forward, his eyes wide as he looked at my blood-spattered clothes.
"Boss," Marco whispered, his voice trembling slightly. "Gianni told us... but we didn't believe it."
Marco looked past me toward the sofa where the four identical little boys were quietly eating their soup. Mateo looked up, saw me standing in the doorway, and immediately set his spoon down.
"He's back," Mateo said to his brothers, pointing his small finger. "The picture man didn't get hurt."
A low murmur rippled through the twelve captains. These were men who had seen every form of violence, betrayal, and corruption that the criminal underworld could produce. But seeing four perfect, tiny copies of their supreme boss sitting in a rusted auto body shop hit them with the force of a religious revelation.
"They are Sofia’s sons," I announced, my voice carrying to every corner of the vast metal building. "Four boys. Born in secret five years ago to protect them from Victor Rostova."
Marco dropped to one knee right there on the concrete floor, followed immediately by the other eleven captains.
"Boss," Marco said, raising his head, his eyes burning with an intense, ancient loyalty. "The Rostova family has crossed the final line. If old man Victor thinks he can come into Chicago and steal the heirs of the Moretti bloodline, we will burn every asset he owns from here to the Canadian border."
"He doesn't just want to steal them, Marco," I said, walking over to the central table and leaning over the spread-out paper map of northern Illinois. "He has Dante Vance working for him. They have private tactical teams, satellite tracking, and federal clearance codes. They tried to take my sons from my own dining room today."
"What are your orders, Alejandro?" Marco asked, standing up and pulling a heavy tactical knife from his belt, driving it deep into the center of the wooden table. "Give us the word. We'll mobilize every soldier in the city."
I looked at the map. I looked at the vast, dark expanse of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan—where Dante had said Victor was holding his primary base of operations.
"We don't mobilize the soldiers in the city, Marco," I said, my voice turning to ice. "If we start a war in the streets of Chicago, federal agencies will step in, and those boys will end up in protective state custody or worse. Victor wants this kept in the shadows. We are going to give him the shadows."
I turned to Elena. "How did Victor’s men find you at the clinic two weeks ago?"
Elena set down her cup of tea, her hands trembling. "I... I used a medical insurance card that Sofia gave me before she died. She said it was connected to a private trust fund in Switzerland that would cover the boys' medical care without triggering local alerts. But... but two weeks ago, when Mateo got sick, the clinic system said the card required a secondary authorization code from a central office in Detroit."
"It was a trap," I said, nodding slowly. "Victor built that trust fund specifically as a digital tripwire. He waited five years for one of those boys to get sick."
"So what do we do now, boss?" Gianni asked, stepping forward. "We can't stay in this shop for more than a few hours. Dante’s network will track the license plates of the vehicles we used to escape the drainage canal."
"We aren't going to hide, Gianni," I said, turning to Marco. "I want six decoy convoys sent out from this shop within thirty minutes. Send two toward the southern border, two toward Iowa, and two toward Indiana. Make sure they use our standard heavy tactical vehicles."
"And you, boss?" Marco asked.
May you like
I looked over at Mateo, who was now fast asleep on the sofa, his head resting against his brother's shoulder, his little hand still clutching the old photograph of Sofia.
"I am going to Michigan," I said quietly. "To finish the conversation I should have had with my father-in-law five years ago."
